


Ledeno

by sabotage_myheart



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabotage_myheart/pseuds/sabotage_myheart
Summary: With strict instructions to rest and recover from her most recent case, Veronica returns home on mandatory leave from the FBI. While helping a friend locate their runaway daughter, she is pulled into something else entirely. [AU from end of Season 3]





	

**Chapter 1: Preparation**

 

**_Now…_ **

 

She’s shaking.  

It’s the first thing Veronica notices when she finally comes to.  All of her muscles hurt.  She’s wrapped her arms around her shins, her knees to her chest, in an effort to retain some warmth.

It’s not working.

As she untwines her fingers and stretches out her arms, her muscles scream in protest, pain shooting from her shoulders down to her fingertips.  She hisses as she uncurls her legs, straightens her knees, and slowly rolls herself into a sitting position.

She regrets her movement instantly.

Placing her hands on the cool concrete either side of her legs, she shifts her weight, lifting herself back against the wall.  A sob escapes her lips as her right arm buckles under the weight, and she realizes that her wrist is broken.

Taking a deep breath, she leans back against the wall, cradling her right arm in her left.  She closes her eyes and takes another deep breath.  The pain spidering out through her chest leads her to conclude that she likely has a few broken ribs. 

There isn’t any time for tears. 

She shifts onto her right hip, and leans her weight against the wall.  Slowly, so as not to bump her arm, she bends her left leg, and fumbles for the buckle on her heel.  After removing her left shoe, she slowly does the same with her right, hindered only slightly by the inability to use her right arm.

Bracing herself for more pain, she stretches her legs straight out in front of her, and points her toes, flexing her muscles.  She’ll need them shortly.  A loud crack fills the room as she points her right foot, and she sighs as the relief of pressure floods up her leg.

Taking another deep breath, she begins to mentally catalogue her injuries.  Broken right wrist, broken ribs on the left side.  She has a hell of a headache, so there’s bound to be some damage there.  She slides her left hand up her left leg, feeling a few different scrapes.  The right leg is the same.  Gingerly, she brings her hand up to her face.  She’s sure she has a whopping black eye, but nothing feels broken.

As long as she still has the ability to walk, she’ll be fine.

She leans forward in a feeble attempt to get more comfortable.  A sharp pain shoots up from the base of her neck and across the back of her head.  Reflexively, her right hand reaches up to press against the base of her skull.

She lets out another sob as an accompanying pain spreads across her wrist and up her arm.

She really needs to stop doing that.

Pulling her right hand close to her chest, she reaches up to the back of head with her left hand.  Her fingertips slide against her skin and she pulls them away quickly.  They’re slick, coated in what she assumes is blood.

Well, at least she’s found the source of the headache.

She drops her hand back down into her lap, and leans her head back against the cold concrete wall. 

How long had she been here?

She had been taken from the club on Saturday night.  Her memory was fuzzy, probably due to the injury on the back of her head.  Or the hit she’d taken that had left her with the black eye.

She closes her eyes, trying to backtrack the events of the past few hours.  Hours, or days, she’s unsure.  But that’s the point of this little exercise.

She had been taken from the club in Los Angeles on Saturday night.  She was grabbed from the bathroom, along with Shae, one of her assets.  That was the plan, sure, but she wasn’t expecting it to be so rough.

They hadn’t gone willingly, she remembers that much.  She had been thrown into one of the cubicles, her body slamming against the toilet.  Probably how she’d broken her ribs.

She had slipped into unconsciousness.  The next thing she remembered was waking up in a barn.  Or what she thought was a barn.  There were three other girls in the barn with her.  There was Shae, a blonde girl who said her name was Kathy, but whose thick Russian accent belied her, and a young brunette who couldn’t stop crying long enough to give her name.

There was a loud scream, and suddenly two men appeared demanding in Russian that they start moving.  She had refused, and one of them grabbed her arm, twisting it until she stood up.  She didn’t.

Mystery of the broken wrist solved.

The next thing she remembered was waking up here, with a serious case of the shakes, and a really bad migraine.

It’s Tuesday.  She’s sure of it.

It’s not exactly an educated guess, she knows, given that she’d spent most of her time unconscious, but there’s just something in her gut telling her she’s right.

Day 4.  It has to be. 

And not just because she _needs_ it to be.

Day 4.  The day that her boss had assured her they’d have enough to bust in and get her out.  Her, Shae, and her partner.  Day 4.  They’d been given 72 hours from the time that she went in to the time the op was to be completed.

It has to be.

She’s not sure she can take anymore.

Soft sobs break her out of her thoughts.  She’s shocked to realize that they’re not her own.  They’re coming from the room to the left of her.

“Shae?”  Her voice is croaky, and she doesn’t recognize it.  “Shae?”

The sobbing stops.  “Veronica?”

Relief floods through Veronica’s body, and she’s surprised at how scared she was that something might have happened to Shae. 

“I’m right here, Shae.”  This is her voice.  Calm, determined.  “I’m right here.”

“Nobody’s coming for us, are they?” Shae’s voice breaks a little, and so does Veronica’s heart.

“Sure they are.”  Her voice doesn’t falter.  But she can’t stop the thoughts from whizzing through her mind.  What if nobody’s coming?  What if they don’t know where she is?

Her right hand shoots up to her ear.  The relief she feels at finding her earring still in her lobe, almost erases the fresh pain she has engulfing her broken wrist.

She _really_ needs to stop doing that.

“Somebody will find us, Shae.”  Veronica spins the GPS tracker between the fingertips of her left hand, a newfound resolve taking over.  “Count on it.”

There’s no response, but the sobbing starts up again.

It’s Day 4, she knows it.  And her GPS tracker is still sitting firmly in place.  They’ll find her, and she’ll be ready.

Gently, she spins herself around, so her entire left side is against the wall.  She slowly tucks her legs underneath her.  Pressing her left palm against the wall, and her feet flat against the floor, she pushes up.

A razor-sharp pain rips through her abdomen, but she ignores it, pushing up until she’s standing.  Once she’s up, she falls back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut.

She can’t stop the tears freely rolling down her cheeks.  But she can stop feeling like a victim because of them.

Sweeping her right foot across the floor, she smiles as it connects with her shoe.  She bends down to pick it up, this time actually crying out in pain.  It feels as though someone is tearing her chest open with their bare hands.

“Veronica?”  The panic is evident in Shae’s voice, and Veronica curses inwardly.  She was supposed to be reassuring Shae, not making her feel worse.

Her fingertips close around the flimsy strap of her shoe, the clasp gently pinching her skin.  “I’m fine Shae.  Just realizing the full extent of my injuries.”

She clamps her eyes shut, and takes two deep breaths, bracing herself.  In one swift move, she’s upright, breathing heavily through the pain.  When she doesn’t cry out again, she briefly wonders if this is why women in labor are told to concentrate on their breathing.

Her back against the wall, her chest is heaving with each labored breath.  It hurts a bit to breathe now, and she hates the fact that in her haste to get prepared, she’s clearly done further damage to her body.  She can’t afford any more liabilities on her part.

Blinking several times in a futile attempt to improve her vision, she starts making her way around the room, her shoe under her left arm, her hand running over the bricks, searching for the doorway.

It feels like weeks before she finds it.

Any part of her body that isn’t screaming in pain is wallowing in a dull ache.  She feels every stretch and every pull of her muscles as she walks around the room.  The palm of her left hand is undoubtedly shredded.  She can feel the skin pulling as she continues running it across the brick walls.

She can’t help the smile that spreads across her face as her hand closes on cold steel of the door frame.  Her hand slides down, searching for the door handle.  When it finds it, it moves left, fingers walking their way across the bricks.

Six across.

Two up.

Nudging the brick with her fingertips, she has to bite down on her tongue from letting out a whoop of joy as the brick starts to give.  She pulls the shoe out from under her arm, and takes to the grout around the brick with her heel.

She hooks the heel into the brick, and pulls.  Slowly, but surely, the brick starts to move forward.  She continues, trying her damndest to be quiet, digging around the brick until she’s sure there’s enough give to pull it out.

Putting the shoe back under her arm, she removes the brick. 

It’s ridiculous, the time it takes for her to decide where to put it.  She can’t hold it in her right hand, her shoe is under her arm, and she _really_ doesn’t want to bend down and put it on the floor.  Dropping it is out of the question, unless she wants to alert her captors.

She grinds her teeth together, and leans forward with the intent of putting the brick on the ground.  It hurts, my _god_ does it hurt. 

There’s a shuffling sound outside her door and she clamps her mouth shut so she doesn’t make a noise, instantly missing the ability to breathe through the pain.

She doesn’t dare breathe.

Standing up slowly, she slides her hand up the wall until she finds the gap left by the brick.  She reaches in.  An overwhelming warmth spreads across her chest as her hand closes around the cold steel of the gun.  She brings it to her lips, and kisses it, instantly feeling ludicrous.

Better than feeling hopeless, she muses, before pressing the gun against her chest.  Reveling in the feeling of the cool metal against her skin, she slides the gun down her top, lodging the barrel under her right breast, and hooking the grip just under the left cup of her bra.

It’s surprising, she finds, how once you have a little bit of hope, everything doesn’t seem so bad.  She bends down and picks up the brick, once again grinding the enamel from her teeth, and puts it back in its rightful place in the wall. 

She starts her way around the wall again, using her left hand to feel around the wall, and her right leg to sweep the floor for her other shoe. 

As ridiculous as she knows it is, it seems to take longer to make her way back to where she woke up.  When her right foot taps the shoe, she slumps against the wall, sliding down it until she hits the cold concrete floor.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, and starts to put her shoes back on.

“Shae?”  Her voice is thready with exhaustion.  “Shae?

There’s a soft whimper behind her.  “Yeah?”

“We’re going to be fine.”  Veronica leans back against the wall, her eyes closed, and slowly brings her injured right hand up to rest against the gun under her shirt.  “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

**_Then…_ **

 

“You’re transferring to Stanford?”  Wallace stares at her, eyes wide in confusion.  “Is this because you and Piz broke up?”

Veronica frowns at her best friend.  “No.”  She walks over and takes a seat beside him on the sofa.  “I put in the transfer application long before Piz and I even started dating.”

“So you’re transferring because you and Logan broke up?”

She opens her mouth to object, but no words come out.  At Wallace’s grin she shakes her head.  “Not exactly.  At the start of last semester I was throwing myself a little pity party.  Dad was out chasing a bail jumper, you were off visiting your Dad, Mac was on another one of her family’s camping trips, and Logan and I were broken up.”

At the mention of her ex’s name, Wallace shoots her a pointed look.  Ignoring him, she continues.  “I wanted out of Neptune.  I filled in the stuff online, applied for financial aid and had hit send before I knew it.  I didn’t give it a second thought.  And I _never_ thought I’d get in.”

She pauses, willing Wallace to believe her.  It was New Year’s Eve, she was sitting alone on the couch after eating re-heated chili for dinner.  She had spent most of the day lying in bed thinking about her relationship with Logan, as she had done almost every other day during winter break.  She was trying to figure out what she could have done differently.

Inevitably, thinking about better times with Logan led to thinking about time spent with Lilly and Duncan.  And any time thoughts of The Fab Four made appearances in her mind, she ended up thinking about her life before Lilly was murdered.  Before her Dad was fired, before her Mom left, before Shelly Pomroy’s party.  Before Beaver Casablancas, before Mercer Hayes.  Just _before_.

She was feeling raw, and vulnerable and all she could think was that she had to get away.  And so, through her momentary haze of depression, she thought about Stanford.  And now here she is at her best friend’s house, trying to explain that she’s about to leave him, and move five hundred miles away.

“Veronica.”  Wallace smiles at her.  “You put your mind to something and you make it happen.  You were always going to get in.”  He nudges her and she leans into him.  “I’m gonna miss your snickerdoodles.”

She points to the door to the kitchen.  “The oven’s in there, Fennel.  Pretty sure if I gave you the recipe you’d be able to muddle your way through it.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that, Veronica.”  Alicia Fennel appears in the doorway.  “You staying for dinner?”

Veronica shakes her head.  “No, thank you.”  She smiles at Alicia before turning back to Wallace.  “I have to go and have this same conversation with a couple of other people.”

“You have told your Dad, right?”

A grim smile sets across her features as she remembers yesterday’s conversation with her father.  “Yeah.”

Wallace studies her for a moment, before responding.  “And… How did he take it?”

“Given the situation I’ve put him in with his job, and his indictment for evidence tampering, I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy to see the back of me.”

“Your dad loves you, Veronica.”

“Oh, I know.”  She nods.  “But that’s what got him into this whole mess.  I think it would be a lot better for everyone if I got out of town.”

“Hey, that’s not -”

She cuts Wallace off before he can respond.  “Can you honestly disagree?  Let’s take a retrospective look at the last few years, shall we?”  She begins listing people off by raising a finger each time.  “Dad’s facing potential jail time.  Logan’s probably going to be murdered by Russian thugs.  Mac and her parents are locked in a legal battle with Madison Sinclair over the whole switched-at-birth thing.  Piz’s face is still healing from his last encounter with Logan.  Duncan’s on the run from the FBI.  Parker moved back to Colorado.  And you -”

“And me, what?”  Wallace stands up and turns to face her.

“You were locked in a room in some warehouse being electrocuted with a shock collar.”

“Are you sure you stopped throwing the pity party back in December, Veronica?  I know you think you’re to blame for everything but you’re not.  Your Dad chose to get rid of evidence, Logan chose to beat up Piz and that other guy.  Pretty sure you’re not to blame for Mac’s thing since you didn’t actually switch her and Madison at birth.  Parker moving says more about her than it does you.  And me?”  He sits down next to her again, and smiles.  “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times.  It was worth getting taped to a flagpole.”

“But.”

“No buts, Veronica.  This is about as sentimental as I get.”

“Maybe I could mail you some snickerdoodles on a fortnightly basis.”

“Ah, now we’re talking.”

They sit in silence for a moment, before being interrupted by Wallace’s younger brother, Darrell.  When the TV starts playing cartoons, Veronica stands up to leave.

“When do you leave?”  Wallace stands too, and they move towards the front door.

She winces.  “I know you just basically pledged your undying loyalty to me forever, but this may make you wanna rethink that.”

“It’s tomorrow, isn’t it.”

She shoots him a sheepish smile.  “No time like the present?”

“Goddamn it, Veronica.”  There’s no anger in his voice, just resignation.  “Hearst classes don’t go back for another week.  Any chance you’ll need some help moving?”

Her smile widens into a grin.  “See this.”  She motions between them.  “This is why I keep you around.  I was kinda hoping you’d volunteer.  How about an old school road trip with Mac?  I’m thinking she won’t be too hard to convince given the situation at home.”

“Deal.”

Veronica gives him a quick hug before darting off down the footpath.

“Hey, Veronica?”

She whirls back around and smiles.  “Yeah?”

“I’m gonna miss you.”

 “And my stupid ass face?”


End file.
